Sep 17, 2015 | Torat Devorah
“I will surely hide My face.” (31:18)
Once, there was a great Rabbi who came upon a young child crying his heart out. “What’s the matter, yingele?” asked the Rabbi, his eyes shining with sympathy and concern. “We were playing…” The child struggled to speak between sobs. “We were playing hide and seek…and I was the one who was supposed to go hide…” The boy looked up into the Rabbi’s face. “Yes, I’m listening,” said the Rabbi. “So I went and hid but…but…” The child broke down again in gales of sobs. “Tell me what happened,” said the Rabbi softly. Finally, the boy managed to finish the sentence, “…but nobody came to look for me!” After a few moments, the Rabbi smiled his warm smile and said, “You know, you shouldn’t feel so bad. You’re in very good company.” The child heaved a little, his tears abating. The Rabbi looked into the child’s eyes and continued: “You’re in very good company indeed. G-d feels a lot like you. Not many people are coming to look for Him.”
This world is like a cosmic game of hide-and-seek. We are given an invitation to this world; the invitation is called life. This invitation itself is a challenge: Who brought us here? Who sustains us here? What are we doing here? To make the game more challenging and our success more meaningful and rewarding, there are various distractions and “false leads” which can take us away from the game. But our “Host” has not left us without a “crib sheet” to help us navigate this ultimate virtual adventure. He has provided a clear manual that is guaranteed to allow us to unmask Him and the purpose of our existence. This manual is called the Torah. When we keep the Torah we see our “Host” more and more clearly. But if we don’t keep the Torah, He will hide himself more and more deeply, and finding Him will be very difficult indeed.
“I will surely hide My face.”
In the Hebrew language, the emphatic “to surely do” something is expressed by the repetition of the verb. In other words, the literal translation of the phrase “I willsurely hide My face” is “Hide, I will hide My face.”
Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair explains: ‘The very structure of the Hebrew language gives us an insight into this “hiding.” There are two kinds of concealment. One is a concealment where you know someone is there but you just can’t see him. The other is a concealment where you don’t even know if he is there at all. In this second type, the very fact of his being hidden is concealed. This is the ultimate hiding, where the very hiding is hidden. When we are aware that G-d has “hidden” from us, He is not really concealed, because we realize that our hiding from Him has been reciprocated by His hiding from us. And so, we humble ourselves and return to Him, imploring his forgiveness. However, when the hiding is itself hidden, and we think that this is the way the world is supposed to be, then we are in big trouble because nothing awakens us to return to G-d. We think to ourselves, “This is the way things are supposed to be, isn’t it?” Ignorance, they say, is bliss. But only while we’re ignorant of our ignorance. One day we will all wake up in the real “Supreme” court and we will then have to pay the price for our years of “bliss.” On Yom Kippur we have a chance to shake ourselves out of our self-inflicted ignorance. A once-a-year opportunity to throw ourselves on the mercy of the King. If we search with all our hearts we will find Him.’
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Sep 11, 2015 | Torat Devorah
“You are standing this day, all of you, before Hashem your G-d, your leaders, your tribes, your Elders, and your officers, all the men of Israel. Your little ones, your wives, your stranger that is in your camp, from the cutter of your wood to the drawer of your water.” Rabbi Mordechai Katz explains that this passage underscores that all members of Israel stood together as equals before Hashem. This is dramatic proof that to Hashem each individual, no matter what his station in life, has the same potential for spiritual greatness. Each person can, in his own way, rise to the summit of holiness. No one should consider himself too insignificant to be a partner in the Covenant between the Jews and Hashem. On Rosh Hashonah, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev rose to blow the shofar. As he was about to began, he stopped, removed the shofar from his lips and put it down. As the delay continued, the people grew restless, for they couldn’t understand why the Rabbi delayed. “My friends,” said the Rabbi, “in the rear of the shul sits a Jew who was kidnaped as a young child, brought up by a gentile family and drafted into the army. When he was 40 years old, he was finally freed and allowed to return to his people. This man had not been inside a shul since he was a child, until he joined us today. He couldn’t possibly remember the prayers he heard so long ago. Yet, he was so overcome with emotion at his return to the House of Hashem. He yearned to join in the expressions of devotion to Hashem. And so I saw him speaking the only remnants of Hebrew that he recalled from his youth — the letters of the Alef Beis. But he said them with such feeling that they rose straight to heaven. I therefore paused so that his letters will have time to reach Hashem, who will Himself form them into the words of our prayers. Now, we can begin the blowing of the shofar.”
“And it shall come to pass . . . and you shall call to mind among all the nations where G-d has driven you.” Hashem tells the Jews of a time when they will be exiled and there, in the land of exile, “shall call to mind . . . “. The S’forno explains that this “calling to mind” is not simply a reminiscence of past events, but a deep introspection into one’s subconsciousness. This reflection is necessary to determine the motivation for every act — good or bad. This is the essence of “teshuvah” — sincere introspection followed by a honest comparison of one’s acts and deeds with the Torah’s absolute standards of right and wrong. How can we find our true motivations? Though we each have a complicated psychological code to decipher, the Torah assures us that we are each capable of breaking our personal code. Hashem created each of us with an unique power of self-analysis; this great potential heightens our responsibility to scrutinize all of our actions and motivations and correct them. It is precisely this “open-eyed” confrontation with ourselves that the S’forno describes as the essence of teshuvah. Though it is difficult, it is not beyond us, particularly during this special time preceding Rosh Hashanah.
“For this commandment which I command you this day is not too wondrous for you nor is it far beyond you… But the word is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it.” Rabbi Avraham Twerski comments: The Torah will its many mitzvos might appear so difficult to observe that some people might say, “what’s the use of trying? I cannot possibly comply with all the requirements of the Torah.” “Not so,” says Moshe. “Observing the mitzvos is well within your means. Not only is it possible, but it is even much simpler than you think. All you have to do is make the decision and commit yourself to do so, and the rest will follow quite easily.” Even the greatest levels of spirituality are well within everyone’s reach. One needs only to make a sincere decision that this is what one wishes to achieve.
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Aug 20, 2015 | Torat Devorah
You shall not plant for yourselves an idolatrous tree any tree near the Altar of G-d.” (16:21)
In this week’s Torah portion we learn that it is forbidden to plant trees in the Beit Hamikdash, the Holy Temple. What is the reason for this prohibition? Wouldn’t trees have been a wonderful way to enhance the beauty of the Holy Temple? At one time, it was the custom of idolaters to plant beautiful trees, called asheirot, at the entrance of their temples. These trees would be venerated as holy. In the Book of Shoftim G-d commanded the Judge Gidon to “Destroy the altar of Baal that belongs to your father, and cut down the asheira next to it.”
The Torah prohibited the planting of any tree in the BeitHamikdash or its forecourt. The Torah Masters then extended the prohibition to include the entire Temple Mount.
However, apart from the connection to idol worship, there is a more subtle problem here.
When something is very beautiful, it’s always a challenge to place that thing in its correct perspective. Whether it’s a beautiful person or a beautiful view, or a beautiful tree, the nature of beauty is to say, “Look at me! I’m so beautiful” It’s difficult to look beyond the surface of the beauty. In Hebrew, one of the words for beauty is shapir. The name Shifra comes from this root, as does the common Jewish surname Shapiro. In the Book of Iyov it says, “By His breath the Heavens are spread (shifra)” (Iyov 26:13). Iyov describes how G-d’s breath spreads aside the cloud cover to reveal the Heavens beyond. The word to spread aside, to reveal is from that same root, shifra. In Jewish thought, something is only beautiful to the extent that it reveals what is beyond, what is inside. The part of the body where the personality of a person, his inside, is revealed is the face. In Hebrew the word for face and inside is the same – pnim/panim.
In Jewish thought, a beauty that reveals nothing more than itself cannot be called beautiful. “Art for Art’s sake” has no place in the lexicon of Jewish thought. Jewish beauty is the revelation of the inner.
On Friday night, a Jewish husband sings a song of praise to wife called Aishet Chayil – a Woman of Valor. Towards the end of the poem it says, “Charm is false and beauty empty. A woman who fears G-d, she should be praised.” When charm and beauty don’t reveal their source, their pnim, then they are false and empty. Charm and beauty by themselves are false and empty, but when they are ennobled and animated by an interior life of holiness and spirituality they radiate the purpose of their gift.
Similarly in the Holy Temple, the beauty of a tree can lead the mind in one of two ways: It can either lead to thoughts of the kindness of the Creator of the tree, how He brought into being such a beautiful thing, or it can stop at the surface: “Wow! That’s beautiful!” Mother Nature is so beautiful that it’s easy to forget that Mother Nature has a Father.
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Aug 13, 2015 | Torat Devorah
Moshe presents to the nation the blessing of a spiritually oriented life, and the curse of becoming disconnected from Hashem. When the nation enters the Land of Israel they must burn down any trees that had been used for idol-worship, and destroy all idolatrous statues. Hashem will choose only one place where the Divine Presence will dwell. Offerings may be brought only there; not to a private altar. Moshe repeatedly warns against eating animal blood. In the desert, all meat was slaughtered in the Mishkan, but in Israel meat may be slaughtered anywhere. Moshe lists the categories of food that may only be eaten in Jerusalem. He warns the nation against copying ways of the other nations. Since the Torah is complete and perfect, nothing may be added or subtracted from it. If a “prophet” tells the people to permanently abandon a Torah law or indulge in idol worship, he is to be put to death. One who entices others to worship idols is to be put to death. A city of idolatry must be razed. It is prohibited to show excessive signs of mourning, such as marking the skin or making a bald spot. Moshe reiterates the classifications of kosher and non-kosher food and the prohibition of cooking meat and milk. Produce of the second tithe must be eaten in Jerusalem, and if the amount is too large to carry, it may be exchanged for money with which food is bought in Jerusalem. In certain years this tithe is given to the poor. Bnei Yisrael is instructed to always be open-hearted, and in the seventh year any loans must be discounted — Hashem will bless the person in all ways. A Jewish bondsman is released after six years, and must be sent away with generous provisions. If he refuses to leave, his ear is pierced with an awl at the door post and he remains a bondsman until the Jubilee year. The Parsha ends with a description of the three pilgrimage festivals of Pesach, Shavuot and Succot.
“The blessing – that you listen to the commandments… And the curse – that you do not listen and turn aside from the way…” (11:27-8) Rabbi Jacob Asher Sinclair relates the following story with regard to this verse: I remember being the grateful father of a newborn son. There are very few occasions that compare with the joy of a brit mila, the spiritual rite of passage when a Jewish boy is brought into the covenant of Abraham on the eighth day of his life. A feeling of expectancy filled the house. Relatives came from thousands of miles away. The sage and the saintly were duly informed of the time and the place. Everything was set. However, as happens quite often, the baby decided to develop non-threatening infant jaundice. It cleared up within a couple of weeks and, with great joy, I brought our young son into the Covenant of Abraham. By that time, however, the eighth day had already been and gone. In a certain sense, however, I really had brought my son into the brit on that eighth day.
At the beginning of this week’s Torah reading, when describing the blessings that come from following the Torah path of spirituality, it writes “… that you will listen…” However, when speaking about the devastation caused by not listening to the Torah, it adds the phrase “and you will turn aside from the way…”
Why the additional phrase? Sometimes we want to do a mitzvah, like bringing our son into the covenant on the eighth day as the Torah mandates, but circumstances beyond our control prevent us. However, G-d, in His infinite kindness, fuses our ‘desire to do’ with the ‘doing,’ and considers the mitzvah as though it was actually done. The mere thought of doing a mitzvah — “that you will listen” — is itself a mitzvah. However, when a person thinks about doing a sin, until he actualizes his thought; until he “turns aside from the way” it doesn’t get marked down on his scorecard against him.
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Aug 6, 2015 | Torat Devorah
The Torah commands us to love three entities: God, our neighbor, and the “ger.” The term “ger” is usually translated to mean “convert” or “proselyte,” but it literally means “stranger.” In the context in which love of the “ger” is commanded, the Torah (Devarim 10:19) uses a play on words: “Love the ‘ger’ because you were ‘gerim’ in the land of Egypt.” Ibn Ezra (Shmot 20:1) categorizes this latter commandment in the group of commands which are given along with a simple reason which does not require extra deliberation or a sought explanation. On the simplest level, the correct translation of the term “ger” in this context would be “stranger,” for the Israelites were strangers in Egypt, not converts to Egyptian religion and society. They were, in effect, outsiders.
Rashi invokes this verse when he describes how the Jews will view Moshe’s (not Jewish) father-in-law if he travels with them in the desert (Bamidbar 10:31). Others imply that the verse does refer to converts. The midrash (Bamidbar Rabba 8:2) records the following parable in describing the plight of a “ger.” A king has flocks of sheep, but one day a gazelle comes and joins them. The gazelle goes out with them to pasture and returns with them at night. When his shepherds tell him of this gazelle, the king takes great delight in watching the gazelle, seeing that it eats, that his shepherds don’t hit it to stay in the assigned areas, that it drinks first when the animals return. They ask him, “You have thousands of sheep over which you make no fuss. So why do you care so much about this one gazelle?” The king answers, “The sheep does what it wants. It goes out and comes back in the evening to sleep, as is its nature. But a gazelle is wild and does not normally live a domesticated life in the presence of sheep or humans. Shouldn’t we give tremendous credit and special attention to this one, who gave up an expansive wilderness and life among all the wild creatures to come and live in our yard?” The midrash concludes, “Shouldn’t we also give tremendous credit to the ‘ger’ who has chosen to leave his family and his people [the nations of the world] to join our ranks? This is why we must be very sensitive so as not to harm the ‘ger’ in any way.”
For the land… is not as the land of Egypt.. where you did sow your seed, and did water it by foot, like a vegetable garden… [rather] it drinks water of the rain of heaven (11:10-11)
“Rain” represents the reciprocal relationship between heaven and earth. “A vapor rises from the earth” to the heavens, and the heavens return it as rain which “quenches the face of the land” (Genesis 2:6). This represents the spiritual truth that “an arousal from below evokes an arousal from above” — that G-d responds to the efforts of man, reciprocating our prayers, yearnings and deeds with nurture from Above.
The Chassidic masters explain that this is the doctrine of the rain-watered land. Egypt, however, was nourished not by descending rain but by the overflow of the Nile, which would periodically flood the land. The spiritual “Egyptian” is one who does not recognize the Heavenly source of the blessings of life. He believes that all is generated from below — that everything he has and has achieved is of his own making. The people of Israel had been subjected to the Egyptian mentality for four generations. Thus they had to spend forty years in the desert during which they were subjected to a diametrically opposite set of circumstance, in which one’s daily bread descends from heaven and one’s own efforts have no effect on the result. Only after this lesson in the true source of life could they enter the Land that “drinks water of the rain of heaven” — where man’s efforts are crucial and significant, yet are permeated with a recognition of, and dependence upon, the true Source of All.
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
Jul 28, 2015 | Torat Devorah
In most congregations, it is customary to stand when the Ten Commandments are read. We also stand during the reading of the Song at the Sea (Shirat Hayam – Exodus 15:1-19), but the custom to do so during the reading of the Ten Commandments inspired much debate.
During the Temple period the Ten Commandments were read daily in the Temple (Mishnah Tamid 5,1) and as Rabbi Ovadia of Bertinoro explains: “Since they are the essence of the Torah; and it would have been proper to read them each day, everywhere, but (this reading) was eliminated because of the claims of the heretics who said that they alone were given at Sinai and not the remainder of the Torah”. In Berachot 12a Rashi explains ‘heretics’ to mean ‘gentiles’. Rabbi Simchah of Vitry adds, “So that the disciples (of Jesus) would not say the remainder of the Torah is untrue” (Machzor Vitri, p.12). In contrast to Christian belief which believes that the Ten Commandments alone were given at Sinai, and in order to emphasize that the entire Torah was given at Sinai, we do not single out one portion of the Torah to read in the prayers.
Professor Eliezer Bashan explains that the question of the daily recitation of the Ten Commandments arose again in Babylonia during the Gaonic period and also in Spain, where there was an initiative to re-instate their public reading. The Rashba (Rabbi Shlomo Ben Aderet) prohibits reciting the Ten Commandments, as did later halachic authorities (Rabbi Moshe Isserles, Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayim, 1,5; Be’er Hetev and Mishnah Berurah: “because of the heretics of Israel who would say – only this is the Torah”). Rising for the reading of the Ten Commandments first appears, to the best of our knowledge, in a responsum of Maimonides which relates a dispute over this issue. Maimonides states: …”That which the late rabbi instituted, to sit, is proper and his proofs are correct… and there is nothing to add to them. And it would be proper to do this in every place where they are accustomed to stand; one should prevent them from doing so because of the possible damage to belief, as some people may imagine that there are various levels of Torah and that only some parts are exalted, and that is a very bad thing…” But despite Maimonides’ unequivocal answer, popular custom prevailed and people continued to stand during the reading of the Ten Commandments. For example, Rabbi Shmuel Abohav ( 1610 – 1694) was asked by the community in Reggio di Calabria, Italy, if it is correct to observe the custom of standing during the reading of the Ten Commandments. In his reply he states: “We rule to observe this custom which has spread over most of the congregations of Israel” . He justifies standing as an expression of honor and reverence, “As if we were welcoming the Holy Presence(Shechina) on this great and awesome occasion(of Matan Torah). In his opinion “there no longer exists the fear that the claims of heretics would affect believers the sons of believers”. In other words, past objections to standing were no longer relevant. He sums up: “Wherever this custom is observed let people cling to the customs of their fathers since their intention is for the sake of Heaven” (D’var Shmuel, Venice, 1702).
Prepared by: Devorah Abenhaim
